for a moment, only too aware that it might so easily have been his own. He felt no rush of reaction, no urge to scream or shout or sing with joy. He was keenly aware of his triumph, that he was alive and he had proven the victor and that was enough for him. He had a sense of satisfaction and pleasure though.
‘By all the gods,’ Iltharis said. ‘You are a cool one.’
Tyrion was barely aware of his surroundings as they rode back towards Lothern. He kept going over the fight in his mind, replaying every move, reliving every blow, remembering every small detail lovingly. He was excited, not disturbed. He had never felt better or more alive.
Larien had tried to kill him, for reasons that Tyrion was still not very clear about. He had never done anything to hurt Larien and, as far as he knew, he hadn’t given the elf any reason to pick a quarrel with him. Larien was dead through his own choice. Tyrion had merely been his chosen means of execution.
He was sure that Larien would not have looked at things this way. He was quite certain that Larien had expected to be riding away on his own horse while Tyrion lay cold on the ground. He imagined that no one ever thought that they were going to be the ones who died when they picked these quarrels but it was inevitable that somebody was and Tyrion was glad it was not him.
He was more than glad – he was pleased and proud. He had demonstrated his skill against one of the most famous duellists in Lothern. He had beaten Larien fair and square and he knew that in some ways he was going to inherit the elf’s reputation. Now he was going to be famous. Now he was going to be the one that people studied when he walked down the street and he was going to be the one that they whispered about in taverns and salons.
He glanced around him and saw the way that his companions were looking at him. Korhien looked troubled. Iltharis looked pleased. The rest of his companions looked at him admiringly and enviously. He could tell that some of them wished they were him and that was a heady feeling. They were all basking in the reflected glow of his victory.
Tyrion glanced around at the road and his surroundings. He had not been really aware of it before. He had been too lost in his own thoughts. Now he could see everything with an almost perfect clarity. He was aware of the greenness of the grass and the brightness of the sun and the caress of the wind against his flesh. He knew that food would taste better and that kissing a girl would be much more pleasant.
Korhien rode up beside him. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Never better.’
‘You are taking it very well. I have seen some warriors be sick after their first kill, some of them after many kills.’
‘I don’t feel sick,’ said Tyrion. ‘I feel great.’
‘That is because you are a natural,’ Prince Iltharis said. He had ridden up on the other side and Tyrion found himself sandwiched between the two. ‘A natural killer.’
Korhien grimaced. He did not like the sound of those words at all. Tyrion was not sure he liked the sound of it himself. It made him sound like a murderer. Iltharis could tell that he had given offence. He smiled coldly. ‘I did not mean that as an insult. It is a compliment in its way. You are like me, Prince Tyrion, you do not feel any remorse when you kill someone who deserves it.’
‘You’re always very certain that the people you kill deserved death,’ said Korhien. Iltharis’s smile widened and he looked even more sardonic than usual.
‘If they had not deserved death, I would not have killed them,’ he said. He laughed and there was a genuine humour in his laughter that chilled Tyrion a little.
This was not a subject he felt that one joked about. It was a serious matter, a matter of life and death. On the other hand, he did feel closer in his attitude to Iltharis than to Korhien. He did not really see why he should regret killing Larien. After all, Larien would have had no regrets about killing him.
‘I don’t think everyone I killed deserved death,’ said Korhien. He seemed to be taking the matter seriously too and Tyrion liked him for that even more than